Scratched Life
by annabell22
Summary: Haytham and Connor's dynamic is 'different' but doesn't get in the way of their business, most of the time. What if Connor never exploded on him when he learned about Gorge Washington's attack on his village? If Connor still trusted him the story may have progressed dramatically differently.
1. Chapter 1

"Where are all of these questions coming from, Ratonhnhaké:ton?" Ziio asks the small child whom was sitting on the ground adjacent from herself. There was a storm outside, children were to remain indoors as the fierce winds made their way through the village. Rain and hail were coming down, though not enough to cause damage it was not wise for one to be outside while the storm occurred. There was not much for the child to do while cooped up in the building, none that peaked his interests rather. Such occasions lead to Ziio teaching her son how to speak English, as time went on it seemed more and more required. The colonists pushing the boundaries closer to the village. He was a smart child, picking it up rather quickly. His mother making remarks it had to do with his English decent. Which tended to only raise more questions about who his father was. His only lead being an English man from London named Haytham Kenway. It was only natural the boy was curious about his origins, which questions were starting to become more and more frequent.

In response to his mother's question the child shrugged, finger pushing its way through the dirt, leaving a trail. He'd always had questions about his father, where he came from, what he'd done for a living. Whenever such questions would come up he'd get short responses, none of which were what he was looking for. Not that he quite knew what he wanted to hear. Not knowing what would quite satisfy him.

"I asked you a question," his mother persisted, the pout on her child's face no match for a look she could give him, the only match for his stubborn behavior, inherited from his father of course.

"Is it bad that I want to know?" he asks in his native tongue. Though his mother encouraged him to carry the conversation through in English, irritating, but he did as instructed, needing minimal assistance.

"Not entirely," the woman sighed. "I suppose it's reasonable that you're curious." The corners of Ratonhnhaké:ton's lips gave way to a small smirk, causing Ziio to smile as well.

"Haytham Kenway," the child says, practically giggling at how ridiculous the name sounded among his people. Before Ziio could talk the boy started rattling off questions faster than she could answer, impressive seeing how he was saying these things in English, almost as if he was practicing.

"Slow down, slow down," Ziio chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Do you have one in particular you want me to answer?"

"What does he do?" he asks.

 _ **X-X-X**_

"Templars did not hurt your people," Haytham explains to Connor, thumb and pointer finger rubbing his eyes in clear annoyance in what he saw to be his son's ignorance. "Washington was at fault not the Templars, it was an outcome of the seven year war, Connor. We worked to see this land united and at peace, much like you and your brotherhood of assassins." This makes Connor roll his eyes, not happy with his father's answer. "You look upon us as if we're the only ones with blood on our hands, how many people have you killed, Connor?"

"It's different, it's-"

"How is it different?" Haytham interrupts his son, his eyebrow raising in question. "Tell me how it is different. Different ways of executing a cause, perhaps. Neither Assassins nor Templars have the cleanest track record. You know this, you have a fixation on killing Charles Lee, correct? Killing those who get in your way. Your own dedication to your people. Ours is to the order." Connor huffs, walking throughout Boston with his father by his side. It was annoying to Connor how persistent the man was to make this point to him, somewhat admirable, however. He'd always been told he'd gotten his stubbornness from his father, but he couldn't be as thick headed as this, right?

Without an argument Connor remained silent, walking with Haytham. The silence seemed to give the older man a confident smile, hoping he'd gotten through to him in some measure. Though he wasn't certain what was going through his son's mind. He was surprisingly hard to read sometimes.

"I suppose you'll be heading home," Haytham says. "Off with your mentor."

"Not quite," Connor says. "I'll stay as long as I'm needed. I suppose you're back off to your order?"

"Not quite," Haytham mimics his son, a slight smile across his lips.

"What's that mean?"

"What is to say I don't have business in Boston?" Connor studied his father, he wasn't quite sure if the man was telling the truth or not. Templars did have eyes and ears everywhere, it was possible. Something about his voice didn't sound truthful.

"I'd hate to keep you from the other Templars," the young man says, holding out his hand for his father. Though he wasn't thrilled about their previous truce at first he was surprised at how well it worked out for the both of them, though their relationship not being the most conventional. It sufficed for what had to be done, and it wasn't completely unbearable. In this alliance he'd gotten to know the man better than he thought he would. He wouldn't say he hated being around him the whole time, either.

"Nor you or your assassins," Haytham says to his son, shaking his hand. The boy nods, going to turn away from his father. "Son?" There it was again, Haytham was bringing out the word son again. He had choice moments when he'd use the word. Mostly just to get Connor's attention, or an introduction or two. At this point, though, who didn't know of their affiliation? The Templars were the ones who'd informed Haytham he'd had a son to begin with. As if he was the last to know, among people who mattered anyways.

"Yes?" Connor asked, turning his head, looking at his father.

"It's getting dark, I know a place that you could stay for the night. I'm staying there myself," Haytham offered. "It's a long way back to your village, right?"

"I'll be alright," Connor says.

"Nonsense," Haytham argued with him. "You had a long day as well, you must be tired."

"I am awake and alert as ever," the boy lied. Try as he might the Templar could see through his tired expression, though Connor wouldn't admit to being tired. Not to Haytham at least.

"Connor," Haytham says, practically in a scolding manor. "There is no need to act like a child, you need rest." He put an arm around his son's shoulder, guiding him through Boston. The boy was too tired to resist his father's grip, but wasn't against complaining.

"Father," he complained before arriving at a tavern. Green Dragon Tavern. "Here?"

"Hush," Haytham says, bringing the boy inside. "I come here often, there's a room up top. You can stay there."

"And you?"

"There's a room across the hall, you think I'm going to do something to you while you sleep? You're a little too old to be afraid of monsters in the dark of night, aren't you?"

 _ **X-X-X**_

 _ **A/N: I'm going to try to correlate**_ _ **Ratonhnhaké:ton's questions with the whole story. Or in some manor correlate the later time line with the earlier time line.**_ _ **Structural**_ __ _ **creativity ^u^**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Ista," Ratonhnhaké:ton complains, getting bored of being cooped up in the Longhouse for such a long time. It wouldn't have been so bad if Ziio hadn't persisted on English while other children were permitted to run around and play.

"Yes, Ratonhnhaké:ton?" his mother asks.

"I'm bored," he complained, slipping back into his native tongue.

"Continue your English if you're so bored," Ziio says, reminding him to keep his English present in their conversation.

"I'm bored of English, I'm really good at it," the child whined, giving his mother a pouting face again. The storm didn't show any signs of letting up soon. It seemed as if it'd go on all day. Nothing the tribe couldn't handle, but the children would get reckless without time to go out and play in the valley.

"You're still not fluent enough," the woman says smiling, the word fluent confusing the child for a brief moment, only further proving his mother's point. She smiles, pulling the child onto her lap, preparing to make a deal with the child. "Alright, tell you what, you were doing well with the language when learning about your Niha, no?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, not catching where Ziio was going with this.

"We can talk more about him if you like," she offered, the boy's face quickly lighting up with excitement, struggling to stay still at the mention of talking about Haytham, wanting to learn more about the man who had fathered him. More about the mysterious man his mother only talked about on rare occasions. It's why his curiosity was so fierce.

"Yes please!" the boy exclaimed, positioning himself in his mother's lap so he could look up at her face. A wide smile was on his face, toothy grin making Ziio smile as well.

"What other questions do you have about Haytham?" the woman asks, "As long as you remain speaking English I suppose it doesn't hurt any to at least talk about him." At this moment she'd go along with whatever the child wanted to get him enthused about the language. Though he'd put up a fight about it she knew he'd use it down the road, and thank her for teaching him.

"Why'd he leave?" the child asks. Ziio inhales, this was a big one.

 _ **X-X-X**_

"You need to relax my boy. With any luck you'll have as high a tolerance as me." They walked in further, more Haytham dragging Connor to be exact. Only then did the native see what the Green Dragon was. A bar.

"I thought we were here for a room? Not a drink?" the boy huffs, looking to the stair case to the right of him. His father laughs, patting him on the back.

"Why not both?" the man asks, walking up to the bartender. "Unwind boy."

"I don't drink," Connor states, looking to the collection of bottles behind the bartender, not recognizing any of the brands, Haytham however intended on ordering by brand. Not that Connor was surprised, he seemed like the type of man to be particular of such trivial things.

"Nonsense!" Haytham says, ignoring Connor's disinterest in drinking as he ordered a mug for both of them. "Worried you won't be able to handle it?" A small chuckle escaped his lips as Connor pouted, crossing his arms. He pushes his son to a table, sitting side by side.

"I'm not drinking," Connor firmly says, Haytham putting the mug in front of the boy. Not to his surprise his father ignored him, giving him the mug anyways. The Templar drank his own, looking to the boy, seeing the curiosity in his eyes.

"Go ahead," Haytham encouraged, watching his son pick up the mug, inspecting his drink close. He smelt it only to have his nose wrinkle up, eyes clenched shut in disgust. "Oh drink it, Connor." The boy glared at his father before lifting the mug to his lips, taking a sip, almost immediately regretting it, making gagging noises and coughing.

"How can you drink this stuff?" Connor exclaimed, putting the mug back on the table. Haytham laughs at his son, continuing to drink his own.

"It's not the taste that's appealing," Haytham explained. "You'll get used to it. Keep drinking. You can surely handle more than a sip." Taking a big gulp this time the Templar smiled, laughing as the boy continued to gag, coughing. "That's it, Son." He pats Connor's back, "Doing better than I expected."

"Better than you expected?" the assassin asks, confused and offended at the same time. "What do you mean better than you expected?"

"You can barely handle a sip," Haytham chuckled, watching his son drink more in spite of him. Which is what he knew would happen. Stubborn kid wouldn't be shrugged off by his father. That made it all the more amusing to Haytham to watch the boy force down more of his drink.

When the boy was done he slammed the mug on the table, coughing and gagging more, hand over his mouth, "What's so funny?" The native watched Haytham laugh at his expense, trying not to puke.

"You really don't take alcohol well do you, Son?" the older man chuckled, continuing to drink his own. "How're you feeling? Holding up?" The boy nods, gulping down any signs of vomit he had, wanting to show his father he could handle it. However childish it was.

The boy handled himself well, not much of a difference in his behavior for a while, until everything started to settle in his system. He had inherited his grandfather's tolerance alright. Light weight beyond anything Haytham could imagine. It made for a comical experience, though.

The boy was struggling to stay in an upright position in his chair, laughing every time he looked to his father. Seeing Connor in such a state was amusing. Seeing Connor less uptight and more relaxed was refreshing at least. Handling him was another thing. When Connor said he didn't drink, he meant it. For good reason too, not that the boy would have known until now.

"You know Father," Connor slurs. "I see why you were here all the time. It isn't bad." The boy chuckled as Haytham's expression turned from amused to confusion.

"Who told you such a thing?" Haytham asks. He remembered telling the boy he'd been to the Green Dragon before, but not coming on a regular basis. Not to be considered a lot, not that it was a lie. He did / does spend a lot of time at the tavern, the meeting place of the Templars.

"Ista," Connor says, Haytham looked confused as ever. "MOM!" He laughed at Haytham's confusion at such a simple word, but even being told Ziio was the one who told Connor about him being at the tavern all the time was confusing to the Templar.

"I wasn't _always_ here, Ziio was exaggerating a bit," Haytham claimed.

"Ista says you were soooooo absorbed with work you never had time for anything, that's why you left! Work was too serious!" Connor mocks, a little too laid back on the subject for his father's liking. "Too serious. Sir Serious. Why so serious?" The boy continued laughing, it finally started to become annoying to the Templar.

"Alright, Connor," he huffs. "You really want to know what happened? Apparently Ziio has been telling you lies."

"Take that back about Ista!" Connor yells, standing, hands balancing himself on the table. "Ista would never lie! Ista was perfect! Perfect!"

"Yes, Connor, yes," Haytham said, patting his back. "You want to hear how it happened or not?" The boy huffed, sitting in the chair next to his father, adjusting himself to be ready to listen to the story Haytham had to tell.

"Alright," the boy says, listening to his father, preparing himself for the story. One his mother only gave him pieces of, not wanting to talk about what had happened with her young son. The Templar thinks for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. Either way he was going to be reliving sentiment that he hadn't touched on in a few years.

"It started after looking for the precursor sight I suppose. Your mother had me kill a man whom was threatening the natives, in exchange she took me to a cave. It wasn't quite what I was looking for. She had upheld her end of the deal, so there was no complaining. There, your mother, she looked amazing. And there, well… We became a couple of sorts. It was all fine, until slowly I was drawn away from the order, I was distracted.

"No one noticed more than Charles Lee, whom was starting to get worried. I'd even go as far as to say jealous, giving her more time than he saw fit, than the other men saw fit. We uh- Ziio and I went on a camping trip. Got away from the city, you know your mother, she was much more comfortable in the woods…" He started thinking about the last time he saw her, arms folded over her stomach, the more he thought about it the more it made sense.

"She must've known she was been pregnant with you by then. I'm almost certain. Work came to me, and she got a little upset… I guess she got really worked up how work was always finding a way wherever I went… She didn't want life like that I suppose. Not that I would blame her. She left, gave me a threat or two…"

"Dad I'm so sorry," Connor exclaimed, "Not your fault Lee is a complete jerk and follows you everywhere! Man has wronged both of us! Ista twice!" Haytham chuckled, wrapping his arm around the boy.

"It's quite alright," the Templar says, "It's getting pretty late and you look like you're about to fall over." The boy huffed as Haytham helped him up and to the stairs. The boy's size and weight did not make it an easy task. He was fumbling and laughing at his father's struggles to get him up the stairs.

"You know, father?" Connor starts.

"Yes, Connor?"

"Who's Connor?" the boy asks, "Oh yah, that's me. My fake name." He laughs, finally at the top of the stairs and heading to one of the rooms. There was a bed with plain white, or what used to be plain white, sheets and a lumpy pillow. Where Connor was going to be sleeping.

"Fake name? I assumed Connor wasn't the name your mother gave you," Haytham says, sitting him on the bed as he took his bow, slid off his hidden blades and other sharp weapons. Connor's hood fell off as his head fell backwards as the assassin tried to keep it balanced.

"You probably couldn't say my real name," Connor says smiling. "Bet you can't."

"You're probably right, Connor," he was starting to get annoyed, and didn't care what he said anymore. Haytham gets his robes off him, making sure no weapons remained as his son tried to kick his boots off. This gives Haytham another short chuckle, helping him. It felt too childish to help Connor undress for bed, but the Templar guessed it was his fault his son got drunk, so it was only right he helped him out right now.

"Hey father," Connor says, giggling again.

"Yes, Connor?" Haytham huffs, getting the sheets ready for his son.

"You're not too awful," the boy meant it as a compliment, not that it sounded too much like one when he heard it out loud. "I meant, you're not the ass everyone says you are. Not always. Sometimes."

"Thanks, Connor."


	3. Chapter 3

Connor woke up the next morning, room spinning around him. Or maybe he was spinning. He couldn't tell. He sits up rubbing his head, a migraine making his head pound. He closes his eyes, lying back down and groaning. This was awful. This was something he'd never felt before. He wasn't sick was he? No, this wasn't sick, this was something else, but he couldn't tell what it was exactly.

"Rise and shine, Connor!" Haytham had already gotten himself ready at dawn, the sun was shining bright now. His son moaned, the Templar knowing what was going on smiles, moving the curtains to have more sun shine through the room making the boy groan more as he's pulled into a sitting position by his father.

"Father," he groaned, stomach gurgling as he brings his hand over his mouth.

"You really don't drink," the man laughed, helping Connor sit, giving him his robes and weapons. "Someone was looking around for you earlier. I told them I'd send you their way. Some man from Homestead? Norris? Had to do with that mentor of yours."

"Achilles," Connor groaned, having hangover from his father insisting he drank the previous night. "Alright. Father you know can't follow." The Templar nodded, of course he wasn't going to be able to follow an assassin back to his home base. He wasn't an idiot. Though he wasn't sure how his trip would fair in his condition.

Slowly Connor made it to his own two feet, eyes feeling heavy and stomach in knots. It almost pained Haytham to see his son like this. It being Haytham's fault for pushing the drink onto Connor in the first place.

"You got it?" Haytham asked, "Drink water if it gets too bad. It should balance you out."

"I think I'm good," he says, putting his robes on, boots slowly going on after as he gets all of his weapons back into place. "Do you always feel this way after drinking that stuff?"

"Not me, and your grandfather has a tolerance for such a state," Haytham said. "But this is normal, really. So you can't chug an entire mug. Lesson learned." Connor nodded, walking outside, the sun hurting his eyes. He groans again, putting his hood over his face in attempt to stop the ache, but it seemed every little sound was making his head ache. The sound of horses' hooves hissing the street, the chatter of towns people, merchants yelling for people to buy what they had to offer. Officers went down the streets, banging on their drums. It was a nightmare. To make matters worse he was starting to feel sick. Stomach twisting in knots.

"You are sure you're feeling alright, boy?" Haytham asks him.

"I'm fine," the boy insists, "I just need a horse to get back home."

"Well I'm sure we could find you one."

"Templars ought to have one I can borrow." This makes the older man nod, walking throughout the town some more, to where the Templars kept horses and such. Southgate Fort. The Templars had taken the fort long ago, upon saving Ziio and other natives from capturing. There were a few men scattered about the fort, horses as well. The gates to the fort lead outwards to the frontier, where Connor needed to go.

"You have an entire fort?"

"You look surprised," the Templar says, "Its where your mother and I met you know."

"That much I knew," Connor says. He'd heard the story from his mother before. Haytham coming in and rescuing her and some other natives from the British. With the help of the other Templars of course. "Ista told me."

"Ah, so she did about talk me," Haytham says.

"Not often but yes," Connor responded, seeing the small smirk form on his father's face. "I had questions about you after all." The smile slowly faded, so he was only talked about when Connor had asked about him? Could she really had been that angry with him? To deprive his child of knowing what his father was like?

"Naturally," Haytham says. Of course his son had questions, what child wouldn't? When did Connors view of his father turn so sour Haytham wondered. He figured it would be from Achilles, an Assassin's view on the Templar after killing a lot of his brotherhood. Though how Connor made it sound it could have come from Ziio. "I'm actually quite curious to hear what your mother might have said about me."

 ** _X-X-X_**

"Your father was an Englishman, from London," Ziio tells her boy whom was sitting still, hanging on every word his mother was telling him. Eager to hear more about his father. "London is a land very far from here, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

This was the longest she had gotten the boy to stay still. He was usually so full of energy, playing with the other kids of the tribe. This subject seemed to interest enough to keep him busy with the storm raged outdoors. With his stubbornness she thought it'd be more troublesome to keep him inside and still. The task didn't seem as difficult as she'd assumed. Talking about Haytham was not the way she'd wanted the child to remain in one place, however.

"Your mouth, and nose, they stand out as your father's," Ziio said, admiring the boy's features. He was the perfect mix of both of his parents. His mother's eyes and the same proud set of his chin. He had freckles that decorated his face, dark hair, like both of his parents, only moderately darker than his father's.

"What was he like?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks, tired of hearing about physical features. Not like he'd be able to put together a face from the features. He'd love to see an actual picture of the man, though. A painting of what his father looked like.

"He was stubborn, not unlike another boy I know," Ziio says, looking down to her son who chuckled at her remark. "Real workaholic too. He was always at some tavern with the other men he worked with. Or off attending to some business. He was never away from his work to be honest, no matter where he went it always seemed to find him. Even away from the colonies and cities.

"His way of dealing with people could have been better. He wasn't very nice to other people. People who opposed his opinion especially. Patience was always worn thin. Man didn't like to waste time." The woman stopped for a moment, trying to think of something to tell the child that wasn't rude or unkind about his father. This proved to be harder than she thought. Now whenever she thought of the man she pictured the stubborn, big headed, workaholic whom she parted with 5 years prior.

"So Niha was a bad man?" the boy asked, becoming disappointed with the answers he was getting from Ziio. Quickly his mother shook her head, not wanting to give Ratonhnhaké:ton that image of Haytham. Even if Ziio and the man hadn't parted on the best terms she wouldn't go as far as to call him a bad man. Not in front of his own son at least.

"Not a bad man, no," Ziio says, trying to reassure the boy. She sat trying to say her words carefully, the boy didn't need to know exactly what it was his father did. Nor why he did such things. After all, Ratonhnhaké:ton was only a child. Those were not things a child needed to hear. The words _Your father kills people to get what he wants_ wasn't how she wanted to address what Haytham did to the child. "Misguided is a better way to think about it. He goes about the wrong way to do things, but he did save me once you know."

"Really?" the boy asks impressed. "How'd he do that? What'd he save you from?" Ziio then told the boy a _revised_ version of the story of how Haytham saving Ziio and some other natives from British soldiers. She left out some of the more vulgar details: the murders and harshness, the making the man to seem more of a hero than he was. It made the boy happy none the less as his eyes sparkled, impressed with the story. Impressed with his father as he remained ignorant to what really happened in order for the natives to be safe.

For now the man seemed admirable, saving his mother from the British. No matter how _misguided_ his mother claimed him to be. The woman chuckles at his excitement of the story, had the story really made the Templar sound that appealing to the child? Then again taking out the killing and it would seem like he was a hero.

"Can I meet him?" Ratonhnhaké:ton requested hopefully.

"I don't think so, Ratonhnhaké:ton," Ziio answers.

 _ **X-X-X**_

 _Author's Note: What is this? More Ratonhnhaké:ton and Ziio than usual? UvU_

 _You can never have too much of them._

 _besides there might not be much of them next chapter_


	4. Chapter 4

Back in Homestead, Achilles and Connor had begun to fight more frequently. The two had been at each other's throats since the native had gotten back from his mission with Haytham. He was having second thoughts about having to kill his father. Even if he was a Templar he wasn't sure he was the man he had been told about his whole life. His entire life he had been told how to think of his father through the words of other people. Now that the man was able to form his own opinions about the Templar he didn't know if he could kill Haytham.

"Until recently you knew you were going to have to kill your father!" Achilles snapped. "That man needs to die and you know it!"

"My father isn't the man you say!" Connor argued. "He doesn't have to die, Achilles!"

"How do you know what kind of a man your father is?" Achilles jeers, "You've only just met him!" Connor is outraged, walking through the house, gathering his things. "That man is charismatic and uses that to manipulate! You are being played for a fool, Connor! Why can't you see that?"

"He is my father, Achilles!" Connor fumed. "And I've seen a kinder man than what you told me of him!" The boy was going back on his search for Lee, whom he was still firm on killing. Avenging his mother was all he wanted, truly. Keeping his people safe. Lee was the one responsible for his mother's death in his eyes. His father was no longer at fault, now knowing what Connor knows now. Washington and the seven years war; Charles Lee going behind Haytham's back. Nothing happened by his father's command.

The boy was misinformed and jumped to conclusions, that causing him to believe Haytham was the one to blame, wanting him dead as well. Connor didn't care for the sides of Templars or Assassins, Americans or the British. He cared for his people, avenging his people. He worked for the best interest of his people, his family. Which now included Haytham. If his father's words were true, he was free of blame. Oher than failing to keep the order in line, allow it to grow out of control, Charles Lee going behind his back as he did.

"With him being Grand Master of the Templars their reign will only grow and they will become more of a threat until unmanageable!" the old man declared.

"He knew nothing of what happened to my people, the men of the order are to blame, not my father!" Connor yells.

"You knew this when first coming to me. Your father must die, you must not let sentiment cloud your understanding!"

 ** _X-X-X_**

Haytham and Charles Lee sat in the tavern, top floor at the table where they usually met with the rest of the order. Though the order was starting to ware dangerously thin. At the hands of the Grand Master's son none the less. It was becoming threatening. Especially to see Haytham not doing much about it.

"Master Kenway, something must be done about that assassin," Charles Lee says, the other Templar's agreeing with him. "The longer that boy is alive the more of a threat he becomes. We can't be expected to just allow him to run around killing off the order! Where do your true loyalties lie, Haytham?" The man was furious, commitment to the order being questioned.

"Of course my loyalties remain within the best interest of the order, Charles," he persists, becoming insulted. "The boy has not wavered my dedication to the Templars. Though your loyalties are fit to be in question."

"I beg your pardon?" Charles Lee exclaims, " _My_ loyalties are in order. May I ask where you would even get such an accusation?"

"How many times have you gone behind my back, Charles?" Haytham jeered.

"If this has to do with that Indian woman again we addressed this already," Charles Lee exclaims. "We were searching for the precursor sight and the burning of the village wasn't our doing. That was an outcome of the seven years war."

"Yes she is involved in one of the times but upon how many occasions have you consciously decided to keep something from me at best interest of your own gain?" the Grand Master roars. "As to my knowledge it has been more than one occasion."

"Your boy's gotten into your head, Haytham," Charles Lee exclaims. "Spending that time with him wasn't good for you or your mentality. What happened to killing the boy, Man? Has sentiment caused you to lose sight of your way?"

"Of course not, Charles," Haytham exclaims, though he wasn't quite sure how true that statement was. Something about his view on the Templars was different. For now, however, he would blame that on Charles. He was not the man he had welcomed into the order with open arms all of those years ago. He had changed somehow. Haytham wasn't quite sure how to explain the man's transformation but Lee was definitely more vile.

"Then why does the boy live?" Charles Lee asks, growing suspicious of Haytham.

"My son lives as he was useful in finding and punishing Benjamin Church," the Grand Master explained, mad that he had to explain himself to the others at all. "Man was out of line and Connor already was on his trail. His tracking served useful and he would not assist me until I had given him my word. Nothing more nothing less." Still, Haytham wasn't sure if he was telling the truth.

Since finding out about the boy decisions had been harder to make regarding the assassin. The man had went against everything the Templars had believed in to save the boy from hanging. When he was in fact the one to frame the boy on the attempt to murder Gorge Washington. The order of course stayed unaware that it was Haytham assisting the boy's escape. They'd have his hide if they were to find out all of the times he had spared his son of a disastrous fate. Not that the man would be able to explain why he was doing such things for his son. Perhaps it was purely the fact that Connor was doubtfully his son, the only family he had left, an effect of growing old perhaps. Whatever the reason the order would frown upon it, a Templar sparing an Assassin.

"Sorry to have doubted you, Master Kenway," Charles Lee apologized, but still suspicious of his friend and would be watching him closely from now on. Until the assassin was dead that was. By the hand of the Grand Master, or himself.

 _ **X-X-X**_

 _ **Author's note: I know there was no Ziio and**_ _ **Ratonhnhaké:ton in this chapter, but I thought it would be nice to see Connor and Haytham in their situations. And adding another break seemed excessive.**_

 _ **I'll add more** **Ratonhnhaké:ton and Ziio in the next one**_


	5. Chapter 5

The storm outside only continued to get worse throughout the day. Thunder shaking the houses, scaring some of the younger children. The noise frightening as they watched the longhouse shake above and around them. Ratonhnhaké:ton remained unaffected, almost amused as the house shook. It was an odd sight, seeing the house almost sway as it did. He had faith in the structure of the house so the storm just posed boredom. Not fear.

Though young the boy was rather mature for his age. Sense of fear was hardly present in whatever he did. Ziio taught him how to climb trees, no fear of the heights or falling. Even when placing his feet wrong and falling, or about to, the boy remained calm. He was tough, persistent. Impressive for a child no older than four. It did cause for some worry, him being too adventuress without fear he could get himself into quite some trouble.

For now Ziio was happy her son was calm during the storm, relived he wasn't like the other kids in the village; cowering under blankets, attached to their mothers. Instead Ratonhnhaké:ton sat in front of her, allowing his mother to brush his hair and keep his single braid that the child looked his best with. He sits with his legs crossed, scoffing at the other children whom were afraid.

"You've got to be afraid of something, Ratonhnhaké:ton," his mother stated, working on his braid as she spoke. "Most of those children are younger than you."

"Well I was never scared," Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed. The boy viewed fear as weakness, it's why he never displayed it, nor seemed to have fear. Or any fear he did have he forced himself to get over. Even at a young age he wanted himself to be independent. Especially on something so childish as being afraid from a thunder storm.

"No you weren't, but they're different," she says, butting a band through his hair to keep his braid in place, finishing up with his hair. "It's okay to be afraid sometimes."

"No it isn't," Ratonhnhaké:ton insisted. He observed how weak the other children looked, never wanting to cower to a parent in such a way.

"Yes it is," she chuckled. "Someday you'll be too afraid to do something, you'll see."

 ** _X-X-X_**

Connor made his way to Fort Gorge. He had gotten word that Charles Lee would be there, so he quickly made his way to the fort. Only upon arrival Connor sees his father, not Charles Lee. This makes the man furious. Lee was supposed to be there, he did not want to chase the man around anymore. He wanted to be done with the chase of the Templars.

"Father!" Connor roars. "Where is Lee?"

"I sent him away," Haytham answers, "I knew you'd be coming here for him. I can't allow you to go around killing the Templars, Son. If you calm down we can-"

"No!" his son interrupts. Rage fueled him, fists clenching into fists, his hidden blades coming out. He was furious with his father for sending Lee off to safety. The look in his father's eyes was one asking for a fight. Neither of them truly wanting one, but both accepted that it was going to need to happen and almost willing to kill one another.

"Stop this madness, Connor," Haytham pleaded, not wanting to have to take his son's life. He walks towards the boy, calmly. It would be very easy to set the boy off right now, and he didn't want a fight to break out. Once that happened one of them were going to have to die. At the hands of the other.

"No, Father, you asked for this when you sent Lee away," the native snapped. He raised his fists, hidden blades becoming visible to Haytham. The older man sighed, bringing his own out, prepared to fight his son.

"If this is the way it must be," Haytham groaned, his hidden blades showing as well. His son nodded, tomahawk by his side. Both men knew they couldn't go back now. There was going to be a fight, and one of them had to die. Neither intended on going back on the deed, either. Not now.

The Templar braced as Connor hastily lunged towards his father. Quickly he dodges to the right, easy to dodge his son's rage filled attacks. Unable to land a hit on his father only made him angrier. He swings his tomahawk at the older man, Haytham catching Connor's right arm. He stopped his attack, catching the boy off guard.

"Connor, stop this," Haytham pleaded. "You could be a fantastic Templar, Boy." If his son were to stop her pursuit of the Templars and convert he would have no problem having Connor live. It was what he preferred. He didn't want his son to die by his own hand. Not if the boy didn't have to.

Instead Connor gives his father a dirty look, staring him right in the eyes. He quickly wipes out his hidden blade on his left wrists, cutting Haytham's arm. That causes the older man to lunge back, holding his wound with his uninjured hand. He looks to Connor, almost in disbelief, but not entirely. Connor takes advantage of his father being off his guard, lunging at him again, Tomahawk in his hands, ready to strike his father.

Haytham wasn't completely off his game, however. The boy lunges after his father as he moves out of the way, now behind his son. He was able to tackle his son to the ground, sitting on top of Connor as he struggled. He took his tomahawk, causing Connor to become frightened. He expected the blade to come down, ending his life, when instead the father throws it out of Connor's reach. This confuses the boy, he looks up to his father, looking him in the eyes. They didn't seem so spiteful and hateful as he had suspected them to be. They seemed more desperate, hoping of understanding.

"Son, I am not going to caress your cheek and tell you I was wrong. I am not going to wonder what may have been. But you can be a great Templar, Connor. You don't have to die," the man pleads. Haytham almost regretted his decision to become a Templar, but wouldn't go back on it. The people who supported the Templar cause got on his nerves, though their views and ways of executing justice he supported.

Connor looked into his father's eyes, hands stayed by his side as his hidden blades came out. He went to move his arm, aiming for his father's throat. He stops, the look on his father's face similar to the one his mother would give him to guilt trip the boy into doing what she'd want. Stopping for a moment, no, he wasn't going to allow his get to him. No, not now. He stops for a moment, looking around him for something to use to fight his father.

"No father, I am not going to become a Templar," the boy says, grabbing a nearby wine bottle. "If anything _you_ need to be saved from your ignorance." With that Connor picks the bottle up, hitting his father in the head and knocking him unconscious. _Not_ killing him.

 _ **X-X-X**_

 _ **Author's Note: Here is where the story changes. Connor unable to kill Haytham.**_

 _ **Now things will get interesting. OuO**_


	6. Chapter 6

The native boy picks the unconscious Templar off the ground, carrying him to his horse. He secures the man, making sure he was still unconscious as he rode back to Homestead. Connor didn't want the man to wake up while they rode horseback. Not only would it be completely inconvenient for the boy, the Templar would see the way to Achilles's manor. Not that Haytham would be allowed to leave Homestead of course, not until Connor could completely trust his father.

Soon Connor reached Homestead, the horse slowing down into a trotting speed. The two men traveled through the small town, people waving to the native as he passed. Around Homestead the boy was beloved. He helped them make their homes there, provided assistance whenever anyone needed any. To everyone Connor was like family, they trusted Connor with their lives. It was their home, they were family. The native feeling the same way about everyone else in the small town. He'd never let anything happen to them.

Reaching the manor Connor carried the still unconscious man up into the guest bedroom. This proved to be a harder task than expected. The man, while still smaller than the assassin, was heavier and more cumbersome while lifeless. Connor set his father on the bed; there he took all of Haytham's weapons, even taking the man's robes for a precaution. He placed the man's hat on the bedside table, knowing his odd attachment to it. The boy thought his father was going to have a heart attack when they jumped into the New York Harbor when he had about lost his hat.

Looking back down at the man at a second glance he remembered his father's arm, how the boy had stabbed him. Going down stairs he goes to the medical supplies, getting bandages. He would clean it up and stitch it if he knew how. He'd go see a doctor once Haytyham woke up. His wound wasn't enough to cause him to bleed to death. A bandage would suffice for now. Going back up the stairs, the Templar's arm was quickly bandaged up, making the boy feel better at least. Once his father's arm was secure he takes the weapons down into the basement where he closed the secret entrance behind him upon leaving, making sure Haytham wouldn't find out where it was.

Connor walks back up the stairs, seeing his father still unconscious in the guest room. Sitting in the desk chair in the room. Watching his father he didn't notice how time passed. Or if it was passing. He was focused on watching the man. How could he have allowed the man to live? How could he bring the man to the manor? Was it that he was afraid to kill his father? He wasn't sure, but Achilles wouldn't have been happy with him. Connor watches Haytham lie in the bed, confused, but not completely regretting his decision to allow him to live.

Not too long after Haytham wakes up, looking around the room confused, sitting up quickly as he saw Connor watching him. Looking around him he saw he had been stripped of his weapons, even his robes. He was happy to see his hat on the bedside table, though.

"Father, Connor says, watching the Templar scan the room.

"Connor?" Haytham asks confused. "You didn't kill me?" He was confused but grateful, so his son didn't have the heart to kill him after all. Though he did have to confess, Haytham didn't know if he would have been able to kill the boy, either.

"Don't try anything," the boy informs. "I've hidden all of your weapons. You won't be able to find them." Haytham wasn't surprised, it was reasonable for Connor not to trust him. Given the fight they just had. The boy seemed to try to be firm, frightening even. Haytham wasn't effected, if the boy was going to hurt him, he would already be dead.

"I couldn't if I wanted," Haytham states, looking to his arm. However poorly, it was bandaged, which he was thankful for. He assumed it was his son who had bandaged him. No doctor would do this badly of a job. Though he did not know how many others knew he was staying here. As far as he knew it could have been a house maid, a slave. He wasn't quite sure.

"Your arm didn't look too serious," Connor remarks. "There will be a doctor to look at it tomorrow. Or if it seems to be infected. You will be alight until then."

"How long was I out?" his father inquired.

"Almost a day now," the son answers. "You will not be getting your things back while you are here. And you're not leaving until all threats have been dealt with."

"Lovely," Haytham says sarcastically. "And how long will that be?"

"Until your order has been taken care of," Connor insists, "The people around here are not to be hurt, understood?" The Templar nodded, understanding. "Good. You are free to move about if you are able. Don't think you're not being watched."

"Naturally," Haytham said. The man takes his hat off the table, securing it on his head. He swings his feet off the bed, standing. Slightly uneasy having his son watch his every move. The look of mistrust firmly on Connor's face.

Connor watches his father for a minute, leaving the room and going down stairs. This left Haytham to walk around his room, studying what he saw. The room was rather bland, equipped with nothing but a dresser, bed and mirror. He walks out the door, the other doors shut. He assumed they'd be locked, and he didn't want to anger his boy any more than he was. Haytham was lucky he was alive and wasn't about to test those boundaries.

Going down stairs he sees Connor talking to a man at the door. His son hears him coming down the stairs and spins around, seeing Haytham slowly make his way towards him. The visitor tries to get a good look of Haytham around Connor.

"Connor, who is that man?" the visitor asked, confused.

The native hesitated for a second before answering. "Doctor White, this is my father."

"Ah, I've always wanted to meet your father," the doctor chimes. He extends his arm for a handshake to the Templar. Haytham shook Lyle's hand, being polite as his son had requested.

"Haytham Kenway," the Templar introduced.

"Your son's a hero, saved me from some regulars a while back, I've been in his debt forever since," Doctor White chuckled. "I'd do anything for the boy. And when I saw the boy ridding through town with a friend practically hanging off his horse I made my way down here immediately. I assume that was your father, Connor?"

"Yes that was him," the boy chuckled. "He got into a bar fight." He looks over to his father who nods. No one in Connor's home needed to know what truly happened in their fight.

"You're lucky your son brought you here, Haytham," Doctor White smirks. "No what about this wound I'm seeing on your arm?" The Templar's left arm was covered in bandages, obviously done unprofessionally.

"I did what I could, I was going to take him to you tomorrow," Connor said. "It didn't look that bad."

"Bad enough for you to bandage it," the doctor remarks. "May I?" The native sighs, allowing Lyle to come into the house, taking the Templar's arm and examined it, removing the bandages so he could see the wound himself.

"How's it look?" Haytham asked, watching as the doctor looks closely at his wound.

"Not bad, but it needs to be cleaned and stitched," White said, "It shouldn't be hard. Why don't you sit down and we can get started." Connor edged the man to the couch where Doctor White tended to Haytham's wounds. The man tensed as the needle went through his skin, stitching the wound.

"Thank you," the Templar says.

"Of course, any friend of Connor's is welcome here," the doctor chimed, smile spread across his face. "If you're ever in need of anything just come find me. I'll be happy to help. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Kenway. Connor, I'll see you around." Connor shook Doctor White's hand, escorting him out the door.

"I thought you said no doctors were coming until tomorrow," Haytham teases. The native only huffs, ignoring Haytham and going into the kitchen, starting to prepare himself, and his father, dinner. The Templar follows Connor into the kitchen, watching him make the food. "What is that?"

"Rabbit, you have a problem with it?" Connor hisses, preparing to cook the meal.

"You hunt?" Haytham inquired.

"That's where it came from. Do you plan on helping or just standing there and watching?"

 ** _X-X-X_**

"Get over here so I can teach you how to do this, Ratonhnhaké:ton," Ziio says to her son. The boy moves closer to his mother, handing the boy a knife. She guides his hand, skinning a rabbit. It was a new experience for the boy. His mother smiles, helping his hand, making sure he didn't make a mistake.

"Is this dinner?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.

"Yes, it's time you learn how to skin," Ziio chuckled. "And when you get older, I can teach you how to go hunting."

"Like bears? Are you going to teach me how to fight bears?" the boy asks excitedly.

"No no, nothing like that, you're still little," his mother laughs, patting his shoulder. "You'll be able to fight bears when you are older. When you're big and strong." The child smiles, finishing skinning the rabbit, making himself proud.

"Do I get to learn how to cook it too?" Ratonhnhaké:ton requested.

"I don't see why not." Ziio took the child to cook the rabbit. He watched closely, wanting to do it by himself next time. "Make sure you use every part of it, Ratonhnhaké:ton. There is no need to be wasteful." The boy nodded, helping his mother prepare the dinner. She was so careful and precise, even when guiding the child. "Soon you'll be able to hunt and make dinner all by yourself. For the family."

The child nodded in agreement, a large grin on his face. "Yep, I'll make dinner for my family, just like you, Ista."

 ** _X-X-X_**

 ** _Author's note: Haytham is ALIVE and is Homestead bound. This can only lead to more shenanigans. Connor and Haytham having almost forced father son time. Until Connor goes off on a wild Lee chase. X'D_**


	7. Chapter 7

**_Author's note: So I did some research. Haytham died September 16, 1781 exactly. While Achilles is said to die just September 1781. In this, yes, Achilles has recently just passed, which is going to be hinted towards in this chapter a little. The freedom of Aus. OuO (Though there isn't much of a change I suppose.)_**

 ** _X-X-X_**

"Connor this isn't bad," Haytham says, impressed with the rabbit he was eating. "Where did you learn how to cook?"

"Ista showed me a few times," Connor states, "It's not the same but… It's what I remember of it." It was strange looking across the table seeing someone other than Achilles sitting there. The old man would help Connor cook meals on occasion, eat with him. Seeing someone in his chair was better than being empty. Being all alone in the big manor, the assassin didn't know if that was something he could handle yet. He'd always been surrounded by people. Living alone in such a big house would be so foreign.

"Well she was a good teacher," the man says, "Speaking of teachers, where is that mentor of yours? Achilles Davenport? I assume he's not too happy that I'm here in his house. Where is the man?"

"Dead," Connor says bluntly, "Peaceful in his sleep."

"Oh, I'm quite sorry to hear that," Haytham says, Connor continued to eat across from him, not giving the subject much attention. It wasn't something he wanted to discus with his father. The boy was still in mourning over the death of his mentor. Connor was still becoming accustomed to the idea of Achilles not being down stairs when the native woke up. Not having to run errands for the older man.

"It' alright," Connor breathes. He stands, taking his plate into the kitchen to clean. His father was left alone in the dining room, contemplating on rather or not he wanted to join his son in the kitchen. He wasn't sure if the boy needed space or company, sentiment wasn't something Haytham had been very good with. After a minute or two the Templar stands, bringing his own plate and silverware into the kitchen, helping his son clean up.

The two remain in silence as they cleaned, not knowing what to say to one another. Neither were good at small talk, any time they tried to spark a light hearted conversation it quickly turned awkward and unpleasant. The air between them was already awkward enough. Not the assassin nor Templar knowing what was appropriate to fill the silence.

"How's your arm?" Connor finally asked, watching the man jerkily use his arm to clean dishes alongside him. The Templar shrugs, looking at it himself. He hadn't paid attention to it, ignoring the pain until now, remembering the wound. It was so small compared to wounds he has had in the past.

"I've endured worse," the man stated. "Your doctor friend did a decent job." The air quickly went back to being silent, until Connor detected a bit of shock in his father's statement.

"The people around here do their jobs well," Connor says, defending Homestead, and its people/ "This town is small, but the people are nice and do their parts." The Templar nodded, his son seemed happy secluded in the country with the small town. Rather than himself whom preferred the noise and excitement of the cities. Haytham himself would be bored out of his mind secluded in such a way.

"I should hope so. Only having one person in each field is an inconvenience."

"Excuse me?"

"If someone wasn't good at their job these towns people would have to go into the city," Haytham says. Though Connor was still slightly offended, he understood, deciding not to start an argument at that time. Instead he drops the topic completely, drying his hands free from soapy water.

"Father I am going to check on the horses," the assassin says, excusing himself from the house, leaving Haytham alone. The Templar takes this opportunity, looking around the house. Though as far as he could tell there wasn't much on the ground floor for him to examine. There were a few books, a painting of an African American family hanging on the wall. He could only assume it was Achilles and his family.

Making sure Connor was still outside tending to the horses, Haytham swiftly makes his way upstairs, approaching the closed doors. Much to his surprise, they were unlocked. Looking around once more to make sure his son was nowhere to be found, he opens the door, finding a bedroom which held all of Connor's things. His bow and arrows sat on the bed, which was nicely made. Continuing to look around he inspects the dresser and its contents, finding nothing but his clothes. The Templar continues to snoop around and finds a bookshelf, where the boy kept small trinkets. Confused, he looks at them more carefully. He displayed the objects like trophies, as if he was proud of securing the objects. Like a child showing off things they'd gotten to their parents.

At fear of getting caught, Haytham leaves Connor's room, closing the door behind him. He still had yet to hear the boy walking into the house, in fact he could still hear the boy outside at the stables. Curiosity getting the best of him he heads to the room across the hall, that door unlocked as well. He opens it quietly, looking around. Upon examination he assumes it was Achilles's old room. Nothing seemed to be touch in quite some time, kept in the state it was in upon the old man's passing. Honoring the memory of him. Everything was folded nicely, everything so well dusted.

The room's arrangement wasn't too different from Connor's. Sheets practically identical, pillow laid nicely on the bed, everything put away. The room was tidy and orderly. Simple in a way. It was almost disappointing to Haytham, not finding anything worth his interest. Just as the Templar was about to leave the room Connor comes up the stairs, catching his father in Achilles's room.

"What are you doing in here?!" Connor exclaims.

"Connor, I-"

"You are not allowed in there!" he yells, obviously hurt.

"There was nothing to hide in there," Haytham spoke, not understanding why his son seemed so irrationally angry about this.

"I assumed by a shut door you would understand you weren't to go in there! Were you in my room as well?" Connor demands. The Templar stalls for a moment, "Of course you were! Why did I expect any different?"

"Connor, calm down-"

"I- I'm trying to be nice to you! I let you live! Even though Achille's said I should have killed you. Maybe I should have listened…" the boy stops, taking a deep breath at the mention of his old mentor. "It's been a long day. I am heading to bed. Don't go into his room again." The native sighs, going into his own room, shutting the door behind him.

"Damn it," Haytham mumbled, watching the boy storm off, unbelievably childish in Haytham's eyes. Though he felt bad about upsetting his son so much. Connor was the reason he was alive, he had spared him. Connor had even brought the man to a doctor, and while it was practically against his will, he had a place to stay. He could stand to be a tad nicer to his son. More understanding to what the child was going through. He had just lost a close friend, to the boy Achilles's was practically family. He wasn't quite sure how to be much nicer when the boy would barely give him a chance. He was so stubborn.

 ** _X-X-X_**

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, stop squirming!" Ziio demands, taking the child's clothes off, trying to clean the boy. It had been a while since the child had a bath. Ratonhnhaké:ton was covered in dirt and mud from playing in the valley earlier. His clothes would have to be cleaned, too. Which wasn't something Ziio was happy about.

The child sat as his mother cleaned him, freckles visible under all of the dirt. The clothes were stained, Ziio would have to spend a long time to get those stains out. She'd have to provide the boy with simple cloth instead of the outfit she had grown to love on the boy. For now he could be dressed in simple skins, not that Ratonhnhaké:ton would like it.

"I don't see why we have to be clean," the young boy pouts, "It's Earth. The Earth is good"

"Well it doesn't do you any good having it all over," the woman chuckled, cleaning the boy as best as she could for now. "Alright. These pants are old and ragged, and the shirt is as well but it was nice of people to loan them to us."

"No! I want my clothes!" Ratonhnhaké:ton pouted. "I like my clothes!"

"You shouldn't have gotten them dirty," Ziio chuckled, going to put the clothes on her son. Before she could do so the boy squirms, stubbornly avoiding the clothes. "Ratonhnhaké:ton! Sit still!" The child groans, Ziio putting the shirt onto the child. It was quite large on him, the shirt ending only inches above his knees.

"Ista, I don't like it," her son whined.

"One leg into the pants," she ignores his complaints, dressing him. Once the boy had the pants on he was really miserable. He did not like what he was wearing, preferring his old clothes. He went to slip the shirt off before Ziio caught him. "Hey, keep it on." The stubborn boy huffs, crossing his arms as he sat on the ground. "It'll be time for bed soon anyways. You won't feel a thing while you sleep."

The child huffed, still unhappy. He wanted _his_ clothes back, but he supposed it would work, keeping his mother happy.

 ** _X-X-X_**

 ** _Author's note: Connor is still a little sensitive about Achilles. Haytham why'd you have to go snooping? Now you've upset your stubborn boy. Thanks for the support! If anyone has suggestions for anything you'd want to see let me know in the reviews! I love hearing from you!_**


	8. Chapter 8

With the night to calm his rage Connor eventually relaxed. By morning he was able to address the situation calmly. The native makes his way down stairs, running his hands through his tangled hair, his single braid starting to fall loose. Not something currently of priority but he would fix it later in the day. Making his way into the kitchen he saw Haytham was already awake. A morning person much like himself. The Templar hears his boy coming into the kitchen, spinning around.

"Ah, Connor," Haytham greets. "Saw you had chickens. Thought it fitting to make eggs." The boy doesn't question nor pry further. Making himself eggs was nothing to worry over. Setting his own place Haytham sets one for his son. "Come sit."

Skeptic, Connor sits next to his father, he studies the meal that had been served to him, not sure if it would be safe to eat. Even with the Templar eating the same meal next to him. Though his imagination ran wild, thoughts of poison, the food being drugged, or perhaps things the boy wasn't aware of. His father was a man with more experience, more knowledge of such things. Haytham, however, was not amused with his uncertainty of the meal. Again the boy was being childish, refusing a meal he had prepared for him.

"Just eat it, Boy," his father demands. In response the native huffs, not trusting the food. Though his distrust in Haytham was understandable, at least in the assassin's eyes. The Templar found no reason for his boy to be so, well, afraid. Haytham was unable to find another word more fitting. Connor seemed almost afraid to trust his father at fear of what might happen. This causing him to question everything his father did. Angering Haytham completely. How could Connor grow closer to his father if he was so unwilling to try? Connor couldn't even eat something his father had prepared.

"You are not above poison," his son stated, eyes shooting daggers at the Templar. Haytham could see his son was no longer dwelling on what had happened last night, he was still angry with him, but not only from the incident from the night prior. Anyone could see the boy had years of built up rage, confusion. Years of feeling hurt and alone, thanks to Achilles all of those feelings had been directed at him, the boy's father. All Haytham was doing was fueling the fire. He didn't want to cause the boy to explode. He would have to defuse the boy; carefully.

"Connor I am eating this in front of you, is that not enough?" he asks, his tone calmer than before. "I did not do anything to harm you in your meal. I give you my word." Though the native did not seem at ease with his father's word. "You took practically everything I had aside from the clothes on my back. Do you really have poison lying openly around? I do not believe you to be that careless. I would have no other source of acquiring such things unless you kept them around. Now I know this is not the case so you can eat in peace, boy." Stopping, Connor thinks for a moment, not even thinking of what his father said. Where would he even acquire something of that nature in the mansion? He had hidden all weapons, with the exception of some kitchen knives, in the basement, which Haytham, to his knowledge, had no clue how to get into. The boy feels dumb as he begins to eat, a cocky smile spreading onto his father's face, almost saying _I told you so_ as he watched his son eat.

The man was itching to get out of the manor, tend to the horses, perhaps help around homestead. Anything he could do that would be productive. Being in the stuffy mansion had him antsy, making him bored. Time off was one thing, being held against his will was another entirely. Besides, usually in his down time he had something to do, here he was bored out of his mind. There had to be something he could do, even if it was just around the manor. He needed _something._ Sitting around as he has been was driving the man mad.

"Any plans for the day?" the Templar asks his son, hoping he'd be able to weasel his way into his plans somehow.

"None that may be shared with you," the Assassin answered, though as he stared at his father he saw the same look he would get. Restless, waiting for something to happen, something for him to be able to do. The small cues Haytham would give reminded him of himself. His hands would give a small twitch from time to time, knee giving the occasional bounce as he stayed anxious. "Though you could go repay Doctor White for helping with your arm. Not a payment necessarily, he could probably use help in some way or another. Keep you busy while I'm away." While it wasn't what he was looking for, he would be able to do something. He was eager to get something done.

"And when will you return?" Haytham asks, concern clear in his voice. Connor couldn't help but chuckle at the cliché. His father asking when he'd be home, like a child with a curfew. Almost like they had a more natural family dynamic, which theirs was anything but.

"Within a few hours, I'll show you through town to Doctor White's house," the assassin says. "I must prepare to leave. I trust you must do the same."

"How might I do that?" the older man asked, he did not disagree with the boy, however. His shirt was stained with his own, and some of Connor's, blood. He was covered in dirt, alongside the blood, from their fight the other day. Connor thought for a moment, he did have some party clothes he would never touch. Something Achilles had bought him but he had never worn, never had use for. While Connor was bigger than his father for a loan it would suffice.

The boy goes up the stairs, motioning for his father to follow. Leading Haytham upstairs he goes into his closet, grabbing the clothes. It was, once all of the robes were taken away, a white button up shirt which he paired with his deer skin pants. Achilles said it went oddly well together, after the boy complained about the trousers. Examining the pants, Haytham weighs his options. Wearing skins around town? That'd be an odd adjustment for the day while someone cleaned his trousers.

Look of distraught was clear on Haytham's face. Carefully the man examines the pants, he was no stranger to the feeling. Ziio had tried to put him into native made clothing before, but the Templar refused a number of times. He'd make excuses regarding his surplus of clothing, encouraging Ziio or her people to use it in some way. Put it to a more functional use.

"I won't be but a few minutes, be ready," Connor informs, disregarding his father's displeasure in what Connor had to offer for clothing. "If you leave your clothes on the bed a maid will clean them by morning." Leaving his father to do whatever it was he needed to clean up Connor leaves the room, closing the door behind him to ready himself.

Haytham looks to the shirt, it was large compared to his torso. His son was bigger than he was, this made the shirt baggy and loose on his body, the sleeves needing to be rolled more than any of his own shirts. Though he could not complain about the shirt itself. He man puts on the deerskin trousers after, he couldn't believe how much larger his son was than himself. The shirt was one thing but the pants were loose, no belt loops either.

He looks at himself, the trousers looked almost completely unnatural. Not even that they were made from skins, but how large the trousers were in proportion to Haytham's body. They looked odd, the man almost couldn't take himself seriously. It was different to see him dressed in clothes that weren't his own, especially clothes from a native.

"Father, are you prepared to leave?" Connor asks from outside the door. How long does it take to put on different clothes? While he had managed to dress, fix his hair and clean up a little, had his father really taken this long to get ready? All he had to do was put on clothes. Surely he had to be done by now, Haytham didn't strike Connor as a man who wasted time. Slowly, Connor opened the door, seeing Haytham staring at himself. Unable to contain himself the boy begins to laugh, the sight of his father in such, for him, baggy clothing, made out of skins was so weird.

"Stop that laughter, boy," Haytham demands, "Don't get used to this either, once your house keepers clean my clothes I won't be needing these anymore." Once Connor was serious again he nods, leading the man down stairs and out the door. Out to the stables Connor gets himself a horse, walking alongside his father, making their way to Doctor White's house. It was unbearably silent, but neither of them were good at small talk. Though something needed to be said, the quietness between them was almost painful.

"How long have you lived here? With these people," Haytham asks curiously. "Or I suppose what I'm asking is when you decided to leave home, join the brotherhood." He knew when Ziio had passed, but surely her mother hand't just allowed a young child to be given to a bitter old man. He couldn't be more than four when Ziio had died; and his skills definitely showed more native origins than being raised by an assassin.

"When I was 13," Connor answers, "I couldn't sit by and watch as my people be punished in a war they wanted no part of. Joining a brotherhood and living by a creed was never my intention, but Achiles was willing to train me. I only wanted my people to be safe. That is why I left." The Templar understood, nodding as his son spoke. "Still I have work to be done. They are truly not safe until Charles Lee has been eradicated."

"Connor, I have said this once as I will again, we did not harm your people," though making this argument was useless, and Haytham could see that. His hatred for Lee he had formed himself, unlike Haytham where he could see the lies he had been fed. Because of that day in the woods, the connection he had made with his mother, he would never be at peace until the man was dead. Rather or not Charles Lee had anything to do with the burning of his village. He would never accept that. Haytham knew this, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to try to talk some sense into the boy.

"Not only for my people, but the colonists as well," he spoke, his eyebrows lowered in irritation, lips clenched together as he kept his composure walking through Homestead with his father. His eyes stayed focused on the path ahead while Haytham studied his son, practically not even looking where he was going.

The subject had been dropped once again, the Templar seeing his son wasn't going to change his mind anytime soon. Nor would he ever. There was no use in arguing in the middle of town. Soon the two made it to White's house. Connor secures his horse, walking up to the door with his father, knocking before the doctor's head pops out, smiling.

"Ah! Connor! Is there something you need?" he asks, toothy grin remaining.

"No, Sir," he chuckled softly. "Though my father here cannot say the same. He wishes to repay you for your service yesterday. I thought he'd love to have something to do while I'm off attending to business. He doesn't know his way around town quite yet." Haytham huffs, his son was talking about him like you would a child. It was demeaning. Doctor White pokes his head around Connor to see Haytham behind him, giving a small smile to the man.

"Ah there's no need, I was happy to help," the doctor said.

"Nonsense," Haytham speaks up, making his way beside his son. "You deserve to be repaid." While Haytham wasn't fond of being watched all day, as Connor would put it, his son was right. The man had done him a great favor, one which he deserved to be repaid for.

This makes the doctor smile, "Well I do suppose I can find you something. Connor, no worries I'll keep an eye on 'im." Chuckling the native thanks the man, going off to find Norris, leaving his father. Doctor White brings Haytham inside. "So, Mr. Kenway, how long are you staying with your son?" In all honesty the man wasn't quite sure. However long it took Connor to take care of his _business._ But that was a nicer way of putting what he was up to, killing one of his on order.

"Not sure," he answered honestly.

"Well Connor seems to be happy that you're around, though he shows it in an odd way, it's just who the boy is," White chuckles, "You know how the boy can be." Well, yes and no. Within the short time he had gotten to know his son he had picked up on the subtle cues his son would give off. It wasn't too unlike his own, making it easy for him to read, though happiness was not one he usually had the pleasure of seeing. He usually only saw it when it was to his own discomfort, the boy giving a small chuckle. That in itself was rare.

"Not particularly," the templar remarks, "What would make you say that?"

"You are alive, for a start," the doctor says, arranging some papers at his desk, "We here are most acquainted of yours and your son's status. Though it is not my business so I do not pry. He was worried enough about you to bandage you, give you a second chance. Mr. Kenway that is not something that should be taken for granted." Of course Haytham knew this. "Your son is not one to give such things." No, he wasn't unlike his mother in such instances. Though it's something he wished had been different about her. Things would be so different. No, he wasn't going to dwell in what might have been, there was no need.

"I know," he states, the boy didn't need a parental figure in his life anymore, any time for that had passed. He needed something different now, but Haytham wasn't exactly sure what that was. But he did know he should probably be making more of an effort to get along with and get to know the boy.

"Mustn't be easy finding out you have a son, full grown at that," Doctor White spoke.

"It isn't," Haytham replied. "If he was younger than perhaps this would be easier. Boy doesn't particularly need a father anymore. I can't imagine the boy growing up without one. If only I had been informed when he was a child." There he was, going over what ifs again, but he found he couldn't help himself.

 **X-X-X**

 **Author's note: Haytham needs to be honest with Connor VAV**

 **Reviews are appreciated and I love hearing from you guys, suggestions for later chapters, comments and or questions. Keep the reviews coming and thanks for all of your support!**


	9. Chapter 9

A few days had passed since Haytham started occupying the mannor with Connor. The two had come to get used to each other running around the large house. Slowly coming around, Haytham had begun to like the quietness of the town, the privacy; it reminded him of one of the Templars' safe houses. The man would venture out to the stables with Connor, helping him tend to the horses. At first Connor was annoyed by his father's want for interaction, but he eventually came around to being more open with his father.

Connor told stories of his first night in the manor, how he had slept out in the stables, the fight that took place that night. He'd even began to talk to him about his mother, what little childhood he had until it was so brutally ripped away from him. Though he learned, from listening to his father speak, that Haytham's childhood was tragic itself, when Connor had asked about his father's family in London. Still his father told tales of his own father's, Edward Kenway, journey around the Caribbean as a pirate. He'd make the comparison between Connor's ship abilities and his fathers, which Connor thought to be unfair. The native's grandfather having years of experience behind a ship's wheel, while he only had little. However, Haytham still found it amusing and would spill a tale or two when sitting in the den, not uncommon for the two to spark a checkers match, distracting them from that their situation really was like.

They were not together because of their desires, more Haytham being held in the manor against his wishes as Connor attempted to eradicate the rest of the order. Neither of them dared to bring this situation up anymore, not while living under one roof with one another. Both saw that neither side was going to waver in opinion, no matter how much the other tried to persuade.

This was unavoidable when Connor had gotten words of Lee's whereabouts from a loyal assassin contact. He tried not to allow his father to see passed his true intentions as he got ready for a journey to kill the man he has been targeting for countless of years, though the anger that burned in his eyes was visible to all. Especially to a man who knew the same look all too well.

"Boy, you can't be going through with this," Haytham says, watching his son prepare his things. He seemed almost eager, prepared to take his revenge. Anticipating the very moment he would end the man's life.

"You can't stop me father," though this time he was right, there were other people around the manor, the templar was not going to start a fight, not that he would be able to win one anyways. Connor was going to go off to kill Charles Lee, and Haytham saw this coming for some time now, knowing no matter what he would do the boy would be off going to take care of the task. His life long journey.

Sighing the Templar just looks at his son, putting a hand on his shoulder. Not knowing what else to say to him, disappointed in his final decision he could only say, "Be careful." Definitely caught Connor by surprise. He was expecting a large argument from the man, him to blow up on him even, he was thankful that this was not the case. The words weren't comforting but encouraging in their own strange way, Haytham's voice seeming to have a trace of sincerity. It was making it much easier to leave homestead to take care of his last threat.

Hand still resting on his shoulder the native stands for a moment, words piling in his throat, trying to figure out what to say to Haytham before leaving. The sentiment from his father's mouth had caught him by surprise that he didn't know what to say in response. After thinking for what felt like an eternity he nodded, reassuring the Templar that he would be back, but he could not promise he would be unharmed. The native leaves the manor, off to _take care of business._

Soon weeks had passed since Connor had gone after Charles Lee. Haytham was becoming worried. What was keeping his boy from returning home? Killing the Templar would be a difficult task though as time went on the boy's father only worried more. Charles Lee was a trained Templar. With more experience than his boy, skill was a debatable subject, however. The boy showed great conviction, noble strength, he had no doubt Connor would be able to kill the man. He knew he was capable quite some time ago, but what could be taking the boy so long?

Without word of the boy Haytham became restless, concerned about the native's wellbeing. The sentiment was odd, something he hadn't felt before. Every day that went by without word of his son was tormenting. Doctor White said to relax, nothing he could do. This was true, the Templar knew there was nothing he could do; though this did not keep him from worrying. He found it difficult to calm, the thought of the assassin always on his mind. What could be keeping him? Injury, had he been taken on account of being too careless? Or perhaps worse…

No, he couldn't sit around and think of the worst case scenarios. That was of no help to anyone and just made things more stressful in the manor he was beginning to call home. Not that he had much of a choice. Housekeepers would comment how it was not uncommon for Connor to vanish for weeks on end, tending to such business. Haytham knew this was different, though. This was no simple or easy mission, this was one where things could go horribly wrong, the boy could even die. The man would go off to locate his son himself if assassin contacts weren't lurking about.

No matter how hard he would try to distract himself from thinking of Connor he was unable. He was all that was on his mind. He couldn't stand it, he wasn't used to feeling helpless. There was nothing he could do to help the situation any. None while cooped up in the manor, anyways.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity he heard what he thought to be excitement throughout Homestead. He heard people running about and mention of Connor's arrival eco through the town. The Templar stands, going out the door, seeing people running around. However, it was not happy as he had anticipated. No, these people were frightened.

He heard calls for Doctor White from several people, a few men running back to retrieve the man. Concerned Haytham picked up the pace, walking through people to see what seemed to be his son's horse. He looks, Connor's arms hung over the horse's neck, head hanging low, hood covering the boy's face. The man couldn't see much, but what he saw on his boy was blood. A lot of it, and it was his own.

Haytham pushes his way through people, finding his way to his son. He was half aware of what was going on around him. It was a miracle he had driven his horse back to homestead. How the boy had archived that the Templar did not know. He takes his son off his horse, finding the large hole in his stomach, noticing his necklace hang from the boy's neck. This was not priority, not now. Carefully Haytham arranges his boy in his arms, carrying him to Doctor White's house, frantic.

What could he possibly had done to sustain an injury like this? How was he even alive? The boy had more strength than he gave him credit for. The man looks to his son, eyes half open, duller than their usual color. Life almost drained out of them. Alarmingly fast.

"Hang in there, Son," Haytham said, he wasn't even sure if his son could hear him. No response came from him, his eyes closed slowly, only to open back up from time to time. Connor's breathing was so slow Haytham was concerned he wasn't alive half the time. He entered Doctor White's house, men there about to bring White to Connor before he had been brought to them.

"Set him down," Doctor White orders, pointing to a bed. The Templar does as he was told, careful to lay his son down, he'd tense every time he was moved. Soon Doctor White was over the native, preparing his things. He looks at the wound, it was huge, infected. He takes the boy's shirt off, only then was Haytham able to see how serious it was, no fabric hiding its seriousness. It made the man's heart sink.

"Connor?" the doctor asks, trying to get a response from him with no prevail. "Damn it, boy, how'd you get to be this way?" Obviously something had impaled the boy, through his center, but he couldn't sure of what. The entry wounds didn't look like a common weapon, something jagged.

"Will he be okay?" Haytham chokes out, unable talk, think clearly. Any words he thought he could say got caught up in his throat. The doctor was already starting to clean out his wound, looking up at his patient's father.

"He's lucky he got to me when he did," the Doctor said, seeing the worry in his eyes. "He will be fine." Nodding, the Templar watches him work on his son, he'd tense with every move the doctor would make, unable to make more of a response. His eyebrows would lower, lips pressed together, nose scrunched. His fingers clenched on the bed, he'd give a small squirm, too out of it to truly resist.

It was an oddly reassuring sign, the assassin squirming as he did. Reassuring in a sense they knew he was alive with every movement he made, every cue his face would give. The pain his son was enduring was destroying the Templar, seeing the boy lifeless was beyond almost any pain he had felt. His only living family, perhaps dying in front of him. Nothing he could do, he could only watch as the native was operated on. He wouldn't be able to know how he had gotten in such position until he was conscious.

The doctor was doing everything he could, stitching the native's wounds. White claimed he did all he could do, but things would most likely be alright. Confident in his work he informed Haytham that the boy would heal over the next few weeks. Maybe even conscious within the week, best case scenario. Connor would be able to explain what had happened.

Looking at the necklace which hung around Connor's neck it was obvious Charles Lee was now dead. Clearly the man had put up a fight, seeing the state his son was in. A good fight too. It was almost impressive to Haytham, the Templar he had trained. How much of a fight he'd put up in his final stand. Looked to be more determination than anything he'd seen towards his dedication to the order.

"You can leave you know, the boy will be fine," Doctor White says, looking to Haytham who stayed, watching over his son, even as he cleaned up, his station and himself. "I'll keep someone close by, watching over himself."

In response the Templar shakes his head, no. He wasn't about to leave.

 ** _X-X-X_**

 ** _Author's note: Haytham's worried over his poor boy. He'd kill Lee himself if Connor hadn't gotten to him first._**

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 ** _In the reviews comment suggestions if you have any! I love feedback from you guys! Keep it coming. ;)_**


	10. Chapter 10

Slowly the man began to tire, staying by Connor's bed side. Diana had given the man an arm chair for him to relax in, seeing how he wasn't leaving. She was a sweet woman, always checking in on the Templar, Connor from time to time. The boy was steady, they did not worry. Doctor White said the boy would heal, but as days passed Haytham worried more. His son remained unresponsive, lying on the bed in front of him. His worry for the assassin was preventing sleep for the Templar. Though he knew he would need sleep he was unable to sleep fully. He'd nod off now and again, but would try his best to watch over the boy as Diana and Doctor White went about their business. They did not worry about Connor, but for Haytham. The man had hardly moved since Connor had been brought to the house.

"Mr. Kenway, go home to the manor, get some rest," Diana suggests, seeing the man slump in the chair, struggling to watch the boy. "Connor is in good hands here." It was strange to Haytham to call the manor home, but it was true. Though he was not going home, his son was in critical condition. He knew it was dumb to be too worried to leave, he was under medical care after all. Though a portion of himself was unable to detach from his son.

"I do not doubt," Haytham says, "But I don't think I'd be able to rest easy knowing he's in such confition. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course I understand, Mr. Kenway," Diana says, "But if you need anything do not hesitate to speak up."

"Why thank you," the man says, watching Diana leave. He was alone with his son again. The way he had grown to like. Alone he could show his sentiment with little embarrassment, not that he was good at expressing it. Though he would find himself thinking of Ziio, apologizing to her quietly, hoping she'd hear him. Her people had believed in such things, and currently it comforted Haytham to believe he was talking to her in some way; saying sorry for everything he had done. He was praying for his son's health. His only family was battling death right in front of him, Haytham unable to assist the assassin.

After all the boy had worked for, everything he had done, the dedication to protecting his people, the boy did not deserve such a fate. He was strong though, and Doctor White was sure the boy would pull through. He was strong, stubborn, like Haytham. He knew the boy wasn't about to die over this, Connor wasn't about to have Charles Lee be the cause of his death. Neither was Haytham, his only blood left, wasn't going to suffer such a cruel fate.

Deep in thought the Templar jolted upon hearing noise in the room. He looks to the doorway, expecting to see someone come into the room; wanting to keep his composure. Instead he sees Connor, moving ever so slightly on his bed. He'd gone to sit up but let out a groan of pain, lying back on the bed it squeaking as he made himself comfortable once more. With pain his eyes clenched shut, clenching the bed sheets and toes curled. His eyes slowly open, adjusting to see where he had been taken. Quickly the assassin was able to identify where he was, moving his head he sees Haytham standing over him, a smile spreading over his face, relieved seeing that his son was conscious.

"I'm taking it you, _took care of_ Charles Lee?" the man inquires. The native nodded, once again trying to sit up against the head of the bed, Haytham stopping him before he could get too far, lying him back down on the bed. "You didn't escape unhurt." Looking down the assassin sees the work Doctor White had done to him.

"It is the price, Charles Lee is dead," Connor states, "Your order is no more." Biting his lip the Templar stayed quiet. Angry with the cockiness in his son's voice. Now, however, he was happy his son was responsive. Connor, ignoring Haytham's wishes, sits up on the bed, painful as it was. He sat in a slouched up right position against the head of the bed. Only continuing to anger his father.

"How're you feeling?" the Templar inquired.

"Great," the assassin says sarcastically.

"Honestly," Haytham demands, not finding his son amusing.

"Fine, I feel fine," Connor huffed. Only then did he truly look at his father since he'd regained consciousness. The man had bags under his eyes, slower than normal. His voice was irritated, not entirely new, but a tired tone accompanied it. How long had Haytham stayed by his side Connor wondered. Enough to tire the man and for someone to provide him with a much more comfortable seat than what usually was put out for patients and their families for short visits.

"You need anything?" Haytham asked. "Food perhaps? You haven't eaten in quite some time."

"Yes, but Diana could-" the Templar shushes his son, leaving the room to grab something to eat. He assumed that the assassin hadn't eaten since killing Charles Lee, he had to be starving. As expected, Doctor White had soup ready for Connor when he did wake, a gift from one of the woman in Homestead. It was something easy for the boy to eat coming out of such a state.

Going back into the other room Haytham hands over Connor the bowl. "It's from one of the women around here. I don't remember her name specifically, though she wishes you a fast recovery." The assassin thanks his father, eating before he had time to question rather or not the soup would be safe to eat. After all, if the Templar wanted the boy dead he had many opportunities while he was lying in front of him, unable to defend himself.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"Could you please retrieve Doctor White?" the native requests.

"Of course," the Templar goes off to find the doctor for his son. This feeling was rather odd, he wasn't used to feeling so parental. Taking care of his son while he was incapable of taking care of himself. Helpless like a child. Haytham found Doctor White, he was doing some paperwork of some sort at his desk, head snapping p as Haytham approached. Almost like he was being caught off guard.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Kenway?" Doctor White asked.

"Connor is asking for you," Haytham states, Doctor white following him to his son. Connor had put the soup he was given on the bedside table. Trying to relax as he was still in the same position, head lying on the head of the bed.

"Connor how are you fairing?" Doctor White asks, examining the work he had done to the native's core. He seemed to be healing quite nicely, everything going as expected, easing the doctor. Seeing the doctor smile eased Haytham as well.

"Quite fine thanks to you. I was wondering when I would be able to walk around once more. Though my work is done people still need me," Connor states.

"Eger as ever to be up and around again I see," the doctor laughs. "Glad to hear. I am sorry to say however you won't be properly up and about for quite some time, Boy. Whatever you did, it caused a lot of damage. You are very lucky to be alive. Honestly you had everybody quite worried." His head gives a nod in the direction of the Templar, smiling as he gave the native quite the obvious hint.

"So how is he going to fare over time?" Haytham asked, quickly changing the subject.

"For now he should try to rest more. The boy should be fine to move about in a few days depending on the state of his wounds," the doctor explained, watching as Connor got irritated but the news. "You'll be able to be moved to the manor in a couple of days, don't worry." This was not what the native was upset about. Though he would perhaps be more comfortable in the manor, he still wouldn't be content as he stayed in bed. He was restless and didn't want to be told to sit still. He'd never been good at staying still for a long period of time. Even after Achilles had taught him patience.

"Thank you," Haytham says, the doctor going back to work before being interrupted by Haytham and Connors request. The Templar looks back to his son, whom was looking quite upset at the moment. "You couldn't have been surprised by what he had to say. Look at yourself."

"Surprised no, but upset," he pouts.

"Stop acting like such a child, Connor," his father groaned, "You're lucky to be alive you know that don't you? If you don't take the time to rest and get better you may not have the luxuries and Charles Lee will be the death of you."

"Charles Lee did not-"

"You sustained those injuries going after him, because of him you are in this condition and if you refuse to listen he will be the death of you," Haytham's voice was stern as he interrupted his son. He knew Charles Lee would strike a chord with Connor, and as it did, the boy complaining less, but not entirely. Everyone expected as such, the boy wasn't above complaining about such things. He did abide by them though.

The native, against his own wishes, stayed in bed. Haytham staying by his side. To Connor it was almost embarrassing to have Haytham be so parental. His father was practically taking care of him as he stayed unable to retrieve things himself. The Templar seemed oddly alright to take care of him in such a state. Only complaining when the boy would attempt to disobey, leave his bed. Otherwise the man would just give Connor a smile, nod and go off to do as he was asked.

Feeling like a small child, Connor was offset having his father take care of him. His father did more than the doctor it felt. Every once in a while the doctor would come in and change the boy's bandages, but other needs were left to Haytham. This grew to be even more so when Connor was well enough to be moved to the manor. That on its own was a cumbersome task. While well enough to move to the manor the assassin was still frail. Still recovering. He would admit, he was more comfortable in the manor, in his own bed.

In the manor he assumed that he would be able to do more, he was wrong. To his displeasure Haytham hovered over the boy, making sure he obeyed the doctor's rules, only allowing him to do little. The Templar would allow the boy to sit up, when comfortable not leaning against something to prop himself up. Haytham had given him a few books, they'd play chess, the least Haytham could do was entertain the boy or give him things to entertain himself. He could see the boy itch to get up and around again. Not unlike himself, in which he understood the boy's boredom and discomfort. The noncompliance with the doctor's word.

That was not a proper excuse to not listen, however. From time to time Haytham would catch the boy trying to sneak out of the bed while he wasn't in the room. He'd come back to the boy out of bed, trying to do something. These attempts would ultimately lead to nothing, being put back into the bed by his father.

"I'm not a child," Connor says, sick of staying in bed. "You can't make me stay here like this."

"You're throwing a fit like one," the man chuckled, reading a book, not even bothering to look up at his boy.

"I am not!" Connor huffs, "But you cannot persist that I lie here I feel fine."

"The doctor said another week at least, you do not want him to re-stitch that. You popping a stitch open would lead to more bed rest and I know you would not like that so just be patient." The Templar was almost at his wits end with his son. How could he had sired something so impractical, impatient?

"Fine," the boy pouted, going back to reading a book his father had given him. However boring he found it to be it was better than staring at the ceiling, or having a conversation with his father whom lately he was not fond of. Hovering over him like a child. He was getting fed up with it all. Was this what having a father was like he wondered?

 ** _X-X-X_**

 **Author's note: Haytham winner of arguments against his poor restless son**

 **Leave a review, favorite and like if you haven't already and thanks for reading!**


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